Butters' Very Own Adventure
by LoveHateDrama
Summary: Butters wins a free trip for two to The Bahamas. When Cartman gets wind of the situation, he immediately manipulates Butters into inviting him. I suck at summaries. Please, just read it.


**A/N: I do NOT own South Park, obviously. If I did, I'd be cool like a fool in a swimming pool in my luxurious million-dollar mansion. This story is simply to see how well a fourteen-year-old girl (me) can write a South Park episode...Fanfic...thing. Anyway, please enjoy, and leave a review, if you will... Thank you for your time and awesomeness. :D**

(The story begins as the camera provides a close-up view of Butters' kitchen. Butters is in the kitchen, about to make himself breakfast.)

Butters: (Singing) Lu lu lu, I'm makin' Pop Tarts, lu lu lu-Wuh, hey, what's this? (reads the text on the box aloud)

Look inside to see if you've won a free trip to The Bahamas...Oh, boy! (looks inside the box) "Congratulations, this box is a winner..." Ooh, neat-o!

(The camera shifts its view to show Butters' parents sitting at the kitchen table, both of them engrossed in a book)

Butters: MOM, DAD, I WON A TRIP TO THE BAHAMAS!

Butters' Dad: That's nice, Bu-WAIT, WHAT? NO SON OF MINE IS GOING TO THE BAHAMAS!

Butters: W-why not?

Butters' Dad: The Bahamas are home to sunburns and pirates, Butters!

Butters: S-so?

Butters' Dad: Butters, don't you remember what happened _last time _you brought home a pirate?  
>Butters: B-but that was an accident, I swear! I was just tryi-<p>

Butters' Dad: DAMMIT, BUTTERS, WE DON'T WANT YOUR SMELLY CARRIBEAN FRIENDS INSIDE THE HOUSE!

Butters: Uh, well all right then...

(Later that day, at school...)

(Butters approaches Kenny, Kyle, Stan, and Cartman.)

Butters: (sounding and looking bummed out) Hey, fellas...

Stan: What's wrong?

Butters: Wull, it's just that I wona free trip to The Bahamas, but my dad won't let me go...

Stan: A trip? For how many?

Butters: Wuh, two, I think...

Cartman: Dude, Butters...You should take me with you.

Kyle: No way, fat-ass, I'm goin' with Butters.

Cartman: Psh, in your dreams, Kahl!

Butters knows better than to take a Jew on vacation! (turns to Butters) Right, Butters?

Butters: A Jew on vacation means death to the nation, Boy Howdy!

Cartman: That's right, Butters.

Kyle: (rolls his eyes) Dammit.

Butters: Wull, sorry, Kyle, I'd love to take you on vacation and all, it's just that if I do that, you'll turn all my money into Jew Gold and then suicide bomb an airplane.

Stan: Dude!

Kyle: Butters, you aren't REALLY going to take this fat-ass, are you?

Butters: Wuh, I-I'm not even supposed to be going anyway, fellas-

Cartman: Don't listen to him, Butters, he's just a lousy Jew.

Butters: Wull, I guess that's true...

Kyle: (sighs) Dammit...!

(The camera cuts to Mr. Garrison's fourth grade classroom)

Mr. Garrison: Now, can anyone tell me who has the biggest hooters?

Clyde: (raises his hand)

Mr. Garrison: (points his finger at Clyde to acknowledge his hand) Yes, Clyde?

Clyde: Mariah Carey?

Mr. Garrison: No, not Mariah Carey, try again, Clyde.

Clyde: (scratches his chin) Uhh...Dolly Parton?

Mr. Garrison: Very good, Clyde.

Butters: (whispering to Cartman) Wuh, hey, Eric, how are we gonna go to The Bahamas? My dad said I couldn't go, remember?

Cartman: (whispering back) I know. That's why we've gotta be stealthy.

Butters: S-stealthy?

Cartman: Yeah, you know, like ninjas.

Butters: Ooh, gee whiz, Eric, I'm not so sure that a-actin' like ninjas is gonna help us change my dad's mind...

Cartman: Just trust me on this one, Butters.

Butters: Wull, okay...

Mr. Garrison: (puts his hands on his hips) Is there a problem, boys?

Butters: (twiddling his thumbs) N-no, sir...

Mr. Garrison: Are you sure?

Cartman: Yep.

Mr. Garrison: ...Well, all right, boys, just don't let it happen again. Anyway, children-

Cartman: Phew, that was a close one.

Buttetrs: (chuckles) Heh, you said it!

(Cartman becomes slightly irritated by Butters' sudden, loud comment, and his facial expression changes to reflect it.)

(Mr. Garrison sends a suspicious look in their direction.)

Cartman: (tries his best to appear calm and attentive.)

Mr. Garrison: (turns around to face the chalkboard and continues teaching) Okay, children, now can anybody tell me who the primary gay-wads of the twenty-first century are? Hmm...let's see...How about Eric?

Cartman: AW, FUCK MY ASS!

Mr. Garrison: Eric, watch your language, this is a school, not a gay bar!

Cartman: Ah, sorry, uhh...Adam Lambert?

Mr. Garrison: Very good, dumb-ass, you get a gold star.

Cartman: Kewl...AY!

Mr. Garrison: (chuckles) But Adam wasn't the only one. Who can name some others? Hmm...let's hear from...Tweek!  
>Tweek: AAH! Justin Bieber?<p>

Craig: Isn't he, like, dead or something?

Mr. Garrison: Yes, he is, Craig.

Cartman: Thank God!

(scattered laughter)

Stan: Wait...Justin Bieber's dead?

Cartman: Yeah, dude, me and Cthulhu totally creamed that bitch!

Mr. Garrison: It's Cthulhu and I, Eric.

Cartman: (scoffs) Whatever!

Clyde: Wasn't that the time Cartman got all pissed off and sent us to a parallel universe?

Kyle: Hey, yeah! Cartman, you fat peace of shit!

Cartman: AY, FUCK YOU, KAHL!

(bell rings)

Mr. Garrison: Okay, children, see you tomorrow.

(everyone leaves)

Cartman: Okay, Butters, do you remember the plan?

Butters: N-no...

Cartman: Okay, here's the plan: I'll come to your house, posing as a German Day Care. Your parents will sign you up, knowing that you have nothing better to do. That way, you'll be able to sneak out while they're distracted. I'll meet up with you shortly after talking to your parents, at which time you are to hand me twenty dollars, are we clear?

Butters: W-well, I can't just give you twenty dollars for no reason.

Cartman: What? Why the hell not?

Oh, uh, I mean...it's too bad about my grandma...

Butters: Wuh, what happened to your grandma?

Cartman: She has...uh, Funklewinkyslexia, and she needs twenty bucks for treatment...

Butters: Aw, gee whiz, Eric, I sure wish I had twenty dollars to give you, b-but I've only got five!

Cartman: Five bucks? What the hell do I look like? Kenny? I mean...Thank you, Butters, that's so very kind of you...(holds his hand out)

Butters: (hands him five dollars and turns to walk the other way) Wuh, no problem, Eric!

Cartman: (mumbling to himself) Goddamn rip-off...!

(Quickly fades out to black, then fades in from black. The camera slowly alternates between views of Butters' and Cartman's house, and then shows Cartman dressed in a tuxedo prancing up to Butters' door and ringing the doorbell.)

Butters' Mom: (answers the door) Yes?

Cartman: (with a German accent) Yes, hello, you must be Mrs. Stotch.

Butters' Mom: Can I help you?

Cartman: Yes. You see, I vork for a German Day Care, und I zink your son could use our services.

Butters' Mom: You know, you're absolutely right. Stephen, come here!

Butters' Dad: (approaches the door) What is it, Linda?

Butters' Mom: This young man says we should sign Butters up for day care.

Butters' Dad: You know what, that's not a bad idea. All right, Mr.-

Cartman: Hitler. Mr. Hitler.

Butters' Dad: All right, Mr. Hitler, we'll sign him up.

Cartman: All right. Can I just get you to sign myah...and myah...

Butters' Dad: (signs as he is asked)

Cartman: Zank you. Vell, you folks take care.

(leaves)

Cartman: (spots Butters on the sidewalk, carrying his luggage) All right, Butters, you got everything?

Butters: Yup! I even packed my favorite Hello Kitty Pajamas!

Cartman: Sweet, now all we have to do is stop by my house and pick up my shit.

Butters: Y-ya didn't bring it with you?  
>Cartman: Of course not, dumb-ass, what the hell kind of German Day Care Worker carries around a fucking suitcase?<p>

Butters: Oh yeah, wull I guess that's true...(twiddles his thumbs)

Cartman: Now come on, our plane leaves in two hours!

Butters: (follows Cartman to his house)

Cartman: All right, Butters, now you stay here while I get my suitcase.

Butters: O-okay. (A few minutes later, Cartman comes back outside, heaving his heavy suitcase.)

Cartman: Dammit, Butters, this thing is heavy, why the hell didn't you come help me?

Butters: Wuh, you told me to stay outside!

Cartman: Whatever, just come on.

(Butters shrugs and follows Cartman to the curb.)

Cartman: (folds his fingers, but leaves his thumb up)

Butters: (watches as several cars zip by, all of them refusing to stop for them)

(A few minutes later, a green minivan stops for the boys.)

(Cartman approaches the car, only to find out it's Mr. Garrison.)

(Mr. Garrison rolls down the window and glares at Cartman.)

Mr. Garrison: Eric, what the hell are you doing?

Cartman: I'm hitchhiking, what's it look like?

Mr. Garrison: (in his head) It looks like I'm about to score.

Mr. Garrison: You boys need a ride?

Cartman: Duh, why the hell do you think we're hitchhiking?

Mr. Garrison: (looks around frantically to make sure no one's watching) Okay, Butters, you can come in. Eric, get lost, you're not my type.

Butters: Okay!

Cartman: AY! Butters, don't ride with this asshole! Butters: Wuh, why not?

Cartman: Because we're in this _together, _remember?

Butters: O-oh yeah. Sorry, Mr. Garrison.

Mr. Garrison: DAMMIT! (drives off in a rage)

Cartman: Time for Plan B.

(Scene cuts to show Cartman hitchhiking again, but this time dressed up as a prostitute.)

Cartman: SUCKY SUCKY FIVE DARRA!

(A few moments later, a white truck stops.)

(A man rolls down the window.)

Man: How much?

Cartman: Five darra. If you take us to Denver Airport, then it only cost tree darra.

Man: Allright, hop in.

(Butters and Cartman get in the vehicle. Cartman sits in the middle and Butters sits on the edge. Cartman begins making out with the man.)

Butters: AAAH! (turns his head away)

(A few moments later, Cartman pulls away, wipes off his mouth, and instructs the man to drive them to Denver Airport.)

(The main nods shakily and takes off. The camera fades to black as the car goes out of sight.)


End file.
